


Wait, what?

by Pippins_Mushr00ms



Category: The Road to El Dorado (2000)
Genre: Gen, Swords, Talking, Teaching, i will die on this hill, this is my headcannon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2020-01-12 20:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pippins_Mushr00ms/pseuds/Pippins_Mushr00ms
Summary: Miguel taught Tulio how to use a sword and you can't convince me otherwise haha enjoy this blast from the past lol





	1. Chapter 1

Wait, What-

Oops, I did a thing. Here, have it. ^.^;

My hc is that Miguel basically taught Tulio how to swordfight. You can't change my mind.

Added note: i  _think_  there's going to be some language in this one, so, like, beware, i guess. I'm just going wit the flow haha

* * *

"Tulio? So, uh, how's the escape plan coming?" Miguel asked, as if it were the first time he'd asked.

He swept his blonde hair out of his face again. It was getting too long. It was almost past his shoulders now. Probably time to cut it.

His black haired friend sat in the corner of their little shared cell. He'd been silent for the better part of maybe three hours now. Legs crossed, eyes closed, Miguel would have thought he was asleep or dead if not for the shallow rise and fall of the other guy's skinny chest.

"Miguel, for the  _last time_ , we are only in here over night, it's a drunk tank; it's not even real jail and we are not in for life," Tulio sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It was actually very early morning, judging by the the grey light filtering through the tiny, barred window. The hangover hadn't  _quite_  set in yet, and he'd had approximately zero hours of sleep since arriving in their lovely new quarters.

Miguel had been drinking rum tonight. This morning? Tulio shook his head. He should have known. His new traditional 'never again' mantra ran through his brain and he groaned. The man was honestly incapable of sitting still as it was, let alone with alcohol  _and_  added sugar.

The blonde had escaped Tulio's own drunken watch for mere moments, distracted by a pair of pretty eyes across the tavern. They'd known each other a few weeks now, Miguel could handle himself, he figured.

Tulio had been totally focused on playing cards. Peeking at his hand versus the house cards, it wasn't a  _bad_  bet, but he'd probably have to bluff a little. He tapped his chin in thought while the other players made their wagers.

This complete focus meant that Tulio was just as startled as everyone else when Miguel came crashing across the room as if tossed. He clipped the table hard, sending it flying in a cascade of beer, gold coins and cards. Tulio's fellow players let out yells of protest as Miguel landed facedown on the floor in the mess and stayed there.

Tulio stared down at his partner while still sitting in his chair, holding his three cards as if he were mid play. Or more likely, staring at where the house's cards use to be. Slowly, he set his own cards down on his knee and leaned forward.

"Uhh, Miguel?" He finally said.

"Hey, there," came the muffled response from the floor, accompanied by a little wave.

"Yeah, hi, you wanna tell me what happened?"

And it seemed Miguel was, in fact, quite literally tossed.

As in  _flung_.

The blonde pointed the direction in which he'd landed. Tulio followed his finger back towards the bar and it wasn't hard to see what he was supposed to be looking at. What was still coming.

A huge, hulking man was working his way out from behind the bar, murder in his eyes. Tulio felt his butthole pucker and the guy wasn't even staring at  _him_. He shot to his feet and threw a few more coins into the mess on the floor to cover their tab.

"Time to go!" he yelled, scruffing his friend and hauling him to his feet.

There wasn't time to form a plan. The only plan was get to the door and away from the mountain of muscle headed their way.

Between the drink, the beer, the slippery, wet cards and the coins on the floor, the pair didn't even make it to the threshold.

There had been a split second where Miguel was fairly impressive with a stolen sword. They'd nearly made it out. He swiped the blade from someone nearby and struck a recognizable fencing pose (a strong one, even). For just a moment, everyone went still.

Then Miguel stepped backwards and slipped on a playing card, thoroughly destroying the illusion. They were in a tangled heap when the authorities showed up to cart them off, just minutes later.

It was all very embarrassing. Not their finest moment. Tulio's knee still ached where he'd landed. Still smelt like beer. They were lucky they were just here overnight.

Tulio cringed inwardly again, thinking about the whole scene. He was not looking forward to the walk of shame the pair of them were about to go through when the sun rose. Hopefully, they could just get up, get out and go. Maybe they could even move on before stopping for supplies. Assuming their jailers would be on time, of course.

He noticed a faint pulsing at his temple and groaned, the first sound he'd made in some time.

"How's that escape plan coming?" came a sleepy murmur from the other side of their little area.

The only reason Tulio didn't sock him was because at the same moment, something clanged against the metal bars. The sound vibrated their skulls.

"You idiots sober?"

"Sober as a lark!" Miguel chirped, springing up. He winked at his companion.

Tulio almost swept his legs, just to be irritating. Instead, he got to his feet and nodded at the soldier.

The man didn't so much  _let_  them out, so much as  _pushed_  them out the door. Not that they'd needed to be rushed along.

"So now what?" Miguel asked when they were alone on the street.

The faint pounding at Tulio's temple had been slowly intensifying. He couldn't decide if he was hungry or going to be sick. His clothes smelled like garbage, and he caught a whiff of his own alcohol sweat.

He massaged his head gently and groaned.

How was Miguel so… perky? It was annoying.

"I dunno," Tulio replied, rubbing his eyes now. Christ, that felt wonderful. "How close is the next town?"

* * *

They did not, in fact, go to the next town. They went as far as the nearest little bistro that was open and hoped no one would recognize them. Which, so far, so good.

Tulio's head was throbbing now and he was grateful for the pitcher of water the waitress left at their little table. He forced himself not to chug, instead sipping, so as not to upset the precarious balance act that was happening in his stomach.

They found themselves seated near the door, which suited them just fine, even though they weren't planning on any trouble. They'd ordered a simple, greasy mix of fried eggs, sausages, bacon and toasted bread with butter. It'd arrived quickly and without much conversation, thank goodness.

The smell of breakfast tipped the balance and suddently the pair was ravenous. They were silent for a few long minutes as they shoveled food into their faces.

"So, hey, call me crazy," Tulio began, when he stopped for a drink. He already felt better.

"You're crazy," the blonde replied brightly, without looking up.

"Okay, touché, had that coming," Tulio narrowed his eyes and went on. " _Anyway_ , last night, that thing with the sword-- was that a real thing? Because it looked suspiciously like a real thing. It looked like you knew what you were doing. For a minute there, anyway."

Miguel snorted, finally looking up. He swallowed his mouthful of food and reached for his cup, eyes twinkling. The dark haired man didn't miss that small detail.

"What do you mean  _'real thing'_? I swiped a sword and held it up," he chuckled.

Tulio knew Miguel a little too well for that now.

"Mm-mm, nope," Tulio pointed his fork. "You knew what you were doing. Or wanted to do, didn't you?"

"I mean--"

"It was the posture," the dark haired man went on, "the way your foot line up with your shoulder or something. It was there, i saw it. It was like you-- what?"

Miguel was openly smiling now, busted.

"Okay, all right. I  _may_  have studied a bit in school," he admitted, shrugging. "but I was nothing special."

"A 'bit'?" repeated Tulio, raising an eyebrow. He nonchalantly stabbed his last sausage with his fork. "Mmhmm, so, say, there hadn't been a mess on the floor, how many do you think you could have taken?"

The blonde performed a quick mental count of last night's crowded bar. He estimated there were maybe twenty or so patrons. Assuming they all had swords, were trained to use them, and they would make their unhindered escape into the night…. And assuming Miguel himself was in top form….

"I dunno, probably… half?" Miguel took a sip of his water with another shrug.

" _Half_?!" Tulio's voice came out louder than he meant it to. Startled, he dropped his fork and the clatter against the plate nearly sent him diving under the table in embarrassment.

"Well, sure, half," Miguel replied, unmoved. He took another mouthful of fried egg and spoke through it, muffled. "Most of  _our_  work was done. Assuming you meant escape. Hold off half, get the hell out, run off into the night. We were already almost out the door."

"Yeah, it  _was_  pretty mortifying. Definitely  _not_  one of our more graceful exits," Tulio chuckled. He picked up his fork again and returned his attention to the fallen sausage.

The pair continued their meal in relative silence.

Tulio was thinking hard about something, Miguel could tell. His eyebrows were drawn, eyes glued to his plate and his lips pursed like he wanted to say something as he chewed. Instead, the dark haired man took another bite, remaining quiet and his expression unchanged. Miguel, half amused, just finished his own meal and let his friend stew.

"Spit it out, already," the blonde said when his own plate was empty and he couldn't stand the intensifying expression anymore.

Tulio twitched and glanced up, eyebrows high on his forehead now.

"What?" He looked back down at his plate. He looked up again and half pointed at the remainder of his food, confused. "The food…?"

"No!" Miguel laughed. "You clearly want to say something, spit it out."

Tulio favored his friend with a serious stare. There was another few moments of silence and Miguel was just about to chastise him, when--

"Will you teach me?"

The question was blunt. Earnest. Honest. Eager, even.

"…what?" Now it was the blonde's turn to be confused.

"Fencing. Will you teach me?" clarified Tulio, then added on hastily, "Please?"

"Oh! Um, weeeellll," Miguel shrugged, stalling for time. Tulio wasnt having it.

"Oh, come on, please? You know I'm a quick learner," the raven haired man pled his case. "I'm good with my hands and--"

"Not so much with your feet though," Miguel interrupted.

" _You_  were the one that tripped us up last night, not me."

"Point taken. I'm just saying, it's more than handwork and thinking. Both are important, but if your footwork is shyte, it wont take much to get yourself hurt. Or worse," Miguel explained, almost gently (for him).

"So teach me that, too," insisted Tulio.

Miguel let out a breath. It was so long ago when he'd learned, let alone been in an actual duel. Grabbing that sword last night had been pure instinct. He'd seen the glinting pommel on the end of a hilt and lunged without thinking.

Sure, Tulio may have seen him take the proper stance for a split second, but  _anyone_  could pose with a sword.

Still, Miguel decided, he wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

"I mean, we can  _try_ ," Miguel finally said, with another shrug. "But no promises."

"Good enough for me!" Tulio chirped.

Tulio chirping was uncharacteristic. Miguel didn't like it. And then the thought made him laugh to himself.

When they finished, they paid their check and left (Tulio nearly dragging Miguel by the ear when he tried to hang around and flirt with the tavern wench).

* * *

Later on, when they'd grabbed some supplies, Tulio stood near the end of the lane of shops with their haul, watching as the little intermittent food stands between them began to open up for a late breakfast or early lunch. He was waiting for Miguel, who'd said "be right back" and then promptly disappeared.

He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of his friend's red shirt or bright hair among the start of the morning rush of people buying their daily wares.

"Right here!"

Miguel's voice piped up next to him and Tulio turned around swinging. Luckily, the blonde was quick and leaned back out of his reach.

"Whoa, there," he said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Sorry, sorry!" Tulio apologized quickly, heart still hammering from the scare. Then he noticed the long, cloth wrapped parcel slung across his friend's shoulders. "What's that?"

"Come on," Miguel said cheerfully, ignoring his question. "Let's get out of here."

The blonde grabbed up one of their bags and started walking away from the market, in the direction of the countryside, whistling.

"Well-- hey, where are we going?"

Tulio snatched up the two remaining bags and jogged to catch up.

Miguel spun on his heel, face bright and smiling.

"Do you want to learn fencing, or don't you?"

* * *

NOTES: This was fun. I have a question for the one, maybe two people who read this, haha: one shot or two parter?


	2. Two

 

Two

A/N: I am totally bullshitting, I just watched a bunch of Olympic fencing and a few how-to videos. Hopefully I cobbled together some coherent instruction, even though I don't think sabre style was around back then? I dunno lol enjoy. ;)

LAST TIME: 

_Later on, when they'd grabbed some supplies, Tulio stood near the end of the lane of shops with their haul, watching as the little intermittent food stands between them began to open up for a late breakfast or early lunch. He was waiting for Miguel, who'd said "be right back" and then promptly disappeared._

_He craned his neck, trying to catch sight of his friend's red shirt or bright hair among the start of the morning rush of people buying their daily wares._

_"Right here!"_

_Miguel's voice piped up next to him and Tulio turned around swinging. Luckily, the blonde was quick and leaned back out of his reach._

_"Whoa, there," he said, quirking an eyebrow._

_"Sorry, sorry!" Tulio apologized quickly, heart still hammering from the scare. Then he noticed the long, cloth wrapped parcel slung across his friend's shoulders. "What's that?"_

_"Come on," Miguel said cheerfully, ignoring his question. "Let's get out of here."_

_The blonde grabbed up one of their bags and started walking away from the market, in the direction of the countryside, whistling._

_"Well-- hey, where are we going?"_

_Tulio snatched up the two remaining bags and jogged to catch up._

_Miguel spun on his heel, face bright and smiling._

_"Do you want to learn fencing, or don't you?"_

* * *

   
It turned out, when the blonde put his mind to something, he could not be easily distracted.

They'd found a rundown barn out in the countryside and a farmer willing to put them up in it, provided they make the needed repairs as payment and let him alone. Miguel agreed suspiciously quick.

The inside was drafty, but dry. Fresh hay bales along the walls would make pretty comfy beds once pushed together. It definitely wasn't the roughest they'd ever slept.

They spent the first day settling in, taking stock of the damage to be repaired. There were planks of wood out back, already mostly prepared, aside from some measuring and cutting. There was roofing to be done as well. The farmer had also shown them the tools hanging from a work station that looked considerably newer than the barn.

The pair had their work cut out for them.

Over the next two days, they worked hard, patching holes and stabilizing in the loft. There were a few horse stalls near the back whose doors didn't hang quite straight they'd get to eventually.

Twice now, after work, well after they'd eaten supper and gone to bed, Tulio woke late in the night to a still silence. Miguel was gone.

The first time, Tulio went back to sleep, assuming his friend was out for a piss.

The second time, he waited for what felt like forever, and climbed out of the king-sized bed of hay they'd created to investigate. The cool air caressed his skin under his billowy shirt and he shivered.

The barn had two doors. A pair of big sliders on rollers in the front, suitable for wagons and carts, and a smaller, human-sized door on the back wall. Both were currently closed.

Or were they?

Tulio squinted in the dark. It looked like the sliders might have been cracked open.

He shoved his sleep mussed hair out of the way. The tie on his ponytail had come loose, he noticed. Reaching along where he'd been laying, his fingers felt around his folded vest hed been using as a pillow for the strip of leather.

Nothing.

He sighed, resolving to look again properly in the morning. Tulio stood up, stretching, wincing when his shoulder cracked.

He went over to the slider doors and confirmed they were open wide enough for someone to slip through. Tulio poked his head out cautiously.

"Miguel?" He whispered, taking in the empty fields around them.

Silence.

Tulio went out, scanning his surroundings. There wasn't much to look at, really. There was the farmer's house a ways to the right, but the lights were out.

"Miguel?" He tried again, a little louder.

Still nothing. He strained his ears, listening. It was quiet, but not as quiet as he thought. There was a faint noise, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Tulio followed the mystery sound to the edge of the barn. Peeking around the corner, he saw...

Nothing. Again.

 _'What the hell?'_  he thought.

But he walked on, anyway. The sound grew louder as he neared the back of the building. With a start, the noise registered in his brain as Miguel's voice. Rhythmic grunts, punctuated by the occasional swear.

Caution abandoned and curiosity peaked, he edged his way to the corner and snuck a look. His loose hair slipped over his shoulders.

There he was. About thirty feet away from the barn. Out in the empty, fenced-in horse pasture.

In the dim moonlight, Miguel stood with one foot in front of the other with one arm up in a guard position. With his other hand, he pointed a sword straight out in front of him. He didn't see Tulio.

"One, two, three, two.." he was chanting as he started stepping forward.

At the same time, he thrust the point of his blade at certain weak spots on an imaginary enemy. Low, middle, high, middle. Miguel matched his steps with his attacks as he muttered.

He was training.

Tulio watched for a few more moments before Miguel stopped midstride and swore quietly. The blonde pointed the sword down and pushed it into the dirt so it stood on its own. Miguel plopped down next to it, back to Tulio, crossing his legs and slumping his shoulders. His chin rested in his hand. Tulio recognized the posture as what he called Miguel's 'thinking pose'.

The dark haired man was intrigued. He hadn't seen anything wrong with what Miguel had been practicing. It all looked in sync to his eyes. Still, he took a step back behind his corner and counted to sixty to give his friend a moment.

When he stepped out again, Tulio eased up on his previous stealth. He made sure to let his feet drag in the dry grass a little, making enough noise so he wasn't (intentionally) sneaking up on his friend. He stopped when he got to the split-rail fence and leaned on it. It appeared Miguel had still not heard him.

The dark haired man climbed up the fence and sat atop it for a few moments, elbows on his knees, waiting. The wood under him creaked and by the way he saw Miguel's head perk up, he heard it. The blonde turned and waved him over. Then he turned back and laid down, arms folded under his head, as if to say, 'I'm not going anywhere'.

Shrugging to himself, Tulio hopped down and covered the rest of the distance. He stopped and stood next to him on the other side of the sword. His hair hung in loose, dark curls, framing his face and fell in his eyes when he bent to sit. He pushed it back, annoyed, tucking it behind his ear.

"Watcha doin'?"

Miguel stretched his legs out and sighed.

"Just trying to remember my drills," he half chuckled, glancing at him. "It's been a while."

"It looked good to me," Tulio replied with a shrug, earning a snort.

He laid down and they gazed upward in a relaxed silence for a while. There was not a cloud to be seen. The stars twinkled white in the inky blue black sky. A slim, silver crescent moon hung high. A cool breeze drifted. It really was a beautiful night.

The dark haired man felt his eyelids start to grow heavy again.

"I'll level with you. I'm rusty at this. My form is not what it used to be."

"That's okay, we can get through it together," Tulio assured him, letting his eyes drift closed. "I have a feeling it'll all work out."

 _'If only it were that easy,'_  thought Miguel,  _'One wrong step, and it could be over.'_

Nevertheless, Miguel was cheered by Tulio's enthusiasm. He reached over and chucked him gently in the shoulder. He cracked an eye open.

"You're probably right. Come on, let's go back in and get some rest," he said. "We can start tomorrow at ugh,  _dawn_ , probably. Uhh, breakfast, train til midday then work?"

The blonde rolled up into a neat crouch, offering a hand to his sleepy friend. Tulio grabbed it.

"As good a plan as i could have come up with," he replied, allowing himself to be pulled up.

When they got back to the barn, Tulio fell back to sleep almost instantly. Miguel, on the other hand, took quite a bit longer.

* * *

Tulio's bare back shone with sweat. It dripped down the back of his neck, making his hair cling to it. Annoyed, he stopped, yanked out his ponytail and quickly wound his hair into a tight bun on top of his head. He started jogging again before Miguel could harp on him.

It turned out Miguel was a very…  _intense_  kind of coach. (Not in a bad way! Of course not. No, Miguel was more… aggressively positive.)

They'd gone through some stretches, some strength training with no problem. It had been a while, and Tulio's arm and shoulder muscles might be a little sore later, but he could deal.

Now they'd moved on to one of the things Tulio hated most in life.

Running.

He'd already heard enough yelling when he first started with a meandering, half-hearted trot.

He despised it.

Wiiiiith a passion.

Every physical class, every rush to a carriage on the fly, every chase he'd ever been in, be it pursuant, or pursuer, he loathed it.

The blonde was about fifteen paces ahead and kept doubling back to make sure the other man was still moving. Every time he circled back, he had some new words of encouragement, which was great.  
   
 If Tulio hadn't been angrily gasping for air.

By the time he caught his breath for a snappy retort, Miguel had trotted out of earshot.

Blessedly, their little jog (torture, more like) ended back at the horse pasture Tulio had found his friend in the night prior.

They each grabbed a water skin they'd left hanging on fence posts. Tulio took a long pull from his, fighting down dry heaves and trying not to look like he was dying. He  _hated_  running.

He threw himself down in the grass (dramatically) and took another drink. Chuckling, Miguel lowered himself to the ground and sat next to him. They both listened to the breeze in the air for a while.

"All right, all right, down to business," Miguel said, when they'd rested long enough. He hopped up from the ground.

Tulio perked up and looked at him. Could they finally be getting on with it? Were they finally going to spar?

Apparently not.

"Watch. You have your basic en guard here. Lead with your dominant foot," Miguel dropped into a sort of crouch and pointed at his front foot (his right), before miming a sword in his right hand. "See how my knees are over my toes?"

Tulio studied a bit, then nodded and (feeling a  _little_  silly), stood and got into his own stance.

Miguel stood up straight and walked over to him, eyeballing his placement. His form was good, but Tulio was righthanded too. Gently, Miguel alerted him that he was leading with his left foot. The man adjusted accordingly.

"Good!" Miguel nodded, pushing at his friend's shoulders a bit to test his balance. Tulio wobbled a bit, but did not waver. "Very good! Always be aware of where your center of balance is."

Miguel stepped back, and Tulio straightened.

"What's next?" He asked.

"Next is advancing and retreating. I won't get too into it  _now_ , but this is what's  _really_  important."

The blonde adopted his en guard stance again, once again miming a sword in his right hand. He took several rapid steps forward, then an equal amount back.

"Your heel should be first to touch the ground, then toes. Lead with your front foot to advance, your back foot to retreat. Try to stay in a straight path either way. Always keep in mind your center of balance until you get the feel for it."

Miguel demonstrated again and this time, Tulio saw what he meant. He mimicked, albeit more slowly. The blonde nodded.

"Good, good," he said, waving him on. "Keep going."

For the next ten minutes or so, Miguel watched Tulio dance back and forth. Occasionally, he had to remind the other man to straighten out, and to heel-toe.

"If you go toe first and slip, you're dead," he'd said simply, waving his imaginary sword. He looked aloof when he said it, but something about the bluntness startled Tulio.

He made a mental note to ask and then immediately forgot, distracted by Miguel planting himself in front of him. Tulio stopped. The blonde advanced, did some sort of jump forward and poked Tulio hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! What the hell was that?" He demanded, rubbing the spot. Irritated, he spat, "What'd you do, anyway, kill someone?"

"Hey, whoa, huh uh. We're not going there. Just try to hit me back," chuckled Miguel.

Tulio did a clumsy lunge of his own, landing shakily and Miguel easily blocking. He danced to the side and lunged, poking Tulio under his armpit. "Point."

The raven haired man stopped again, frustrated.

"Don't stop," Miguel warned, and poked him again. Tulio growled, but retreated in step. " _That_  was a lunge. Lift off with your front foot. Push off with the back foot. Thrust your sword. Well, finger. We'll get to the practice swords."

Tulio quickly tried again, annoyed by the seemingly dirty trick. Miguel swung out, catching his friend's wrist and rolling it away with his forearm. He wobbled, and Tulio lurched to the side, unbalanced, but quickly recovered.

"That was close!"

The dark haired man lunged again, nearly poking the blonde in the chest. Miguel rolled his shoulder and dipped back. Tulio lurched off to the side again and recovered. His footwork was fairly spot on, aside from that weird hop he did after an attack. They'd have to take care of that.

"Good! Very good!" Miguel said, delighted, "You're a natural at this! Again!"

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning training. The sun was high in the blue sky before either of them were ready to tear themselves away to work on their chores. Sweat dripped off them, their water skins were nearly empty, and they'd long discarded their shirts.

The pair mucked stalls, straightened the damned barn doors, and started roof repairs.

The last task took up most of the day, really, but they'd gotten a lot of rotted shingles and boards down. There wasn't time to get all the new material up, but on the positive side, they had a very nice view of the clear evening sky when it came.

The sun was well below the horizon before they decided to stop for the night.

A pot of salted beef and pillaged vegetables simmered over their small fire, filling the immediate area with a savoury scent.Tulio cut thick slices of travelers bread as the meal finished stewing.

Miguel lounged on his side, near the fire, secretly nursing an aching knee. He'd fallen earlier, taken off guard by an excellent parry from Tulio. He landed hard on it, but hopped back up, ignoring the twinge of muscle and bone and carried on.

Now, he regretted it. And he wished for a bandage or wrap of some sort. Miguel wasn't getting too old for this shit, was he? He felt his brow furrow deeply.

The blonde stewed almost as much as their pot, inwardly irritated, outwardly- just passing as tired. He moved his injury a little closer to the fire, hoping the warmth would loosen his muscle.

He'd managed to convince himself a while ago that he wasn't angry at anyone but himself over the minor injury. After all, he thought, he  _was_  rusty. Miguel hadn't exactly been using the groups of muscles associated with fencing lately. Tulio would probably be feeling the same aches he was.

"Here."

A steaming bowl of dark stew was suddenly in front of his face. Two slices of bread were balanced carefully atop the bowl's lip. Miguel sat up and crossed his legs before accepting it, ignoring the pain from the movement.

"Thanks."

Tulio groaned, sitting down next to him with his own bowl. He stretched his long legs out, and trying to flex the ache out of them.

They ate silently for a few minutes, tired and ravenous from their long day.

It wasn't until Tulio was halfway through seconds, and Miguel was wiping his bowl clean with the last scraps of his bread that Tulio remembered his question.

Before he could articulate how to tactfully ask "did you kill someone sparring?", Miguel had gotten to his feet with a groan and was… limping? toward their water trough. The question died in his throat, curiosity replaced by concern.

"What the hell is that?" demanded Tulio, his worry made him sound sharp and angry. He dialed it down when he saw Miguel's spine stiffen. "Miguel, are you hurt?"

Busted.

The blonde turned around with a smile.

"Just sore?" He tried.

Tulio rubbed his eyes. He knew exactly when it happened.

"Seriously? The one time I actually  _get you_  today and I actually hurt you. Fantastic," he groaned, flopping back on the grass.

"Oh, calm down," Miguel reassured him. "It's fine. Just a bruise." Then with another smile, he added, "Buuut if you wanted to wrap it up for me, I would not say no."

"Oh, for goodness sake," now Tulio rubbed his forehead, annoyed and guilty. "Go on, get in the barn, I'm sure we can find something to use as a bandage."

 ---------

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Soooo, it's looking like a three parter now? I have no idea what the hell is going on with this fic, so I guess we'll be finding out together!  
 


End file.
